Body on me
by withered
Summary: Sure, he still blushes like a virgin on occasion, but once that cherry had been popped, it's gotten a lot harder to embarrass him. Rukia mourns those days, really.


For an anon on tumblr's prompt of: Running late

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Body on me

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It's no surprise that Ichigo gets her in trouble.

Considering how they met and how their relationship has progressed through the years: a few broken laws, orders they take turns routinely ignoring when the other is in danger, and the Kuchiki elders' delicate sensibilities rendered sufficiently destroyed when faced with the savior of the world _formally requesting _to "live in sin" ("We're married Rukia, what the fuck.") with the street rat their heir adopted - one would argue that it's pretty on-brand for them. Expected really.

Ichigo doesn't care if the reasons are less _we were arguing over something dumb_ and more _one of us, or both of us were naked and that's why we're late_. Rukia thinks its because after everything he's been through, he's got zero shame.

Sure, he still blushes like a virgin on occasion, but once _that _cherry had been popped, it's gotten a lot harder to embarrass him. Rukia mourns those days, really. It's so much more fun to tease him when he gets all flustered about it, but thanks to time and an unprecedented amount of curiosity (which had really been surprising given how uptight he was before), Ichigo has zero compunctions whatsoever about strolling into the barracks - still sweaty and dirty from training recruits - walking into her office and - Rukia and her schedule, willing - having a quickie right there with officers milling about just outside the door, and then walking out casually less than thirty minutes after getting her off like he really _did _just come in to give her his report for the day.

It's not like Rukia is complaining, necessarily.

Bar the knowing looks from her co-workers, and the truly _awkward _glances she tries to avoid from her brother, it's not like anyone would notice. Ichigo's usually pretty considerate.

Sure, they've broken the _no sex at work_, and _no sex in semi-public places_ rule, but they weren't so much rules as they were _general guidelines to appropriate workspaces_. And while Ichigo's grown shameless when it comes to sex, he isn't inconsiderate - in the bedroom or out of it.

Having almost walked in on various people throughout the years in the public bathhouses, training grounds, and the open offices since his induction as a shinigami proper, Ichigo isn't interested in mentally scarring people unless he gets to salt the earth with their remains which is perhaps the only time he actually _does _care what people think. Though, to Rukia's understanding, it has more to do with them eying Rukia's naked skin up than any kind of shame Ichigo has about it.

(She has no idea where his possessive streak came from, and if it has anything to do with why he can so confidently slink in out of the office, but again, she's not complaining.)

A lot of the "inappropriate work relationships" no-gos are mitigated, of course, being married, and Ichigo being her lieutenant, but they're both genuinely respectful in front of the other officers and the recruits. It's frankly, still a topic of hot gossip whether they _do _indulge in some _at work stress relief _that doesn't involve trash-talking on the practice grounds. Though, that's really just something relegated to the lower officers because the higher-ranked ones, the captains and their lieutenants have more than just suspicions because as mentioned, they're always late.

That isn't to say it's _always _Ichigo's fault, or it's _only _his fault; it isn't that she can't say no to him, and hasn't started things on her own either.

In fact, even with the shinigami women's association's monthly meeting tomorrow, and Ichigo being out on night patrol, Rukia's already thinking about tomorrow morning. Of finding Ichigo draped, pliant and golden beside her, bare limbs starfished on the bed with the sheet just barely clinging to his waist. He's vulnerable in sleep, careless, and Rukia's grumbled awake more times than she remembers when he comes back from their opposing patrols when they have them. Sometimes, she goes back to sleep, just rearranges them to her comfort and Ichigo follows, happily curling an arm around her, and nuzzling into her neck, or her chest - depending on who the little spoon is that that night.

Sometimes, she can't sleep.

Sometimes, she trails curiously at him with her fingertips, her mouth; she's more than acquainted with his body, the delicious curve of his muscles and the tautness of his stomach and the scars that dot his skin like constellations, but Rukia feels like Ichigo's reactions are different every time - and certainly different compared to when he's awake.

He's more languid, more pliant, but just as reactive.

She'll run her nails down the tendon of his neck, scratch at a nipple and lean over to taste his skin - it's always something uniquely him, their soap, and clean sweat, and sometimes, his faded cologne will tingle across her tongue. It's usually enough to get him to chub up, his dick nudging against the leg she's thrown over his waist. She likes to tease him when he's like this. He's usually so intense, so in control, so urgent from being used to sneaking into the office and between training sessions and meetings. After being apart constantly before he made lieutenant, it'll take another few years before he slows down again, accepts this new pace.

Like this, though, Rukia gets to take her time, take him apart.

Sometimes he watches her with half-lidded eyes as she treks across the planes of his neck, shoulder, chest, abdomen; he watches her count the freckles that have sprouted from all his time in the sun, and mouth at new scars before laying homage to old ones.

He'll even lay, panting and squirming as she works his cock and fondles his balls, and won't try and take over unless Rukia says he can, unless she begs right back.

Rukia muses, in her hazy fantasies of what fun she'll have with Ichigo before she leaves for her meeting, all the ways she wants to have him.

Maybe she'll ride him once he's all revved up, straddle his hips and sheath herself on his throbbing, weeping dick. Maybe this time, she'll watch him watch her - how her breasts bounce, how her mouth shapes her moans as he fills her, hits her just right. She won't let him help, she thinks as her hips move in pantomime to her dream, he'll cradle his head with one hand and fist the sheets with the other; his eyes will darken in their focus, committing everything to memory, as he wets his lips like he's starving.

And because he's been so well behaved, she'll let him be gross and eat her out after, and he'll thank her with orgasm after orgasm from his tongue alone until he's coming again and ruining their sheets, but she won't care because fuck, he knows how to make her feel so _so good _that she shudders, rousing from sleep in a haze of decadence; a familiar, delicious tingle of pleasure tracing every vertebra of her spine, a tease against too warm skin that pools liquid heat into every fiber of her, sends nerve endings twitching restlessly with want.

Blinking languidly through the last vestiges of sleep, she notices almost lazily how the paleness of her legs frame his golden shoulders, how the orange crown of his head is bowed between her thighs. She sighs into a contented stretch, pressing up against his willing mouth - is rewarded with his arm, warm and heavy thrown across her belly, his thumb weaving between her curls, teasing at her slit while his palm spreads wide, trailing along her pelvis in a caress that leaves goosebumps in his wake. Her toes curl, her legs widen, quivering.

"Ichigo..."

With her consciousness, he grows bolder, applying more pressure, sucking a little louder.

Her approving moan muffles the slick sounds of his tongue, though she feels his groan and the rasp of his cheek against her inner thigh, and is rewarded when he reaches with his other hand between her throbbing lips to spread her open even more, to press inside; the very definition of temptation.

She rocks back into it, gets his reverent, "God, you taste good" mouthed at her entrance before Rukia has attention lavished at her clit with blindingly breathless focus.

Rukia tosses her head in another sigh of his name, adding, "No fair, I had plans."

He hums in acknowledgment, finds that perfect spot with his tongue regardless and probes it with one digit, then two until she's shaking, until she feels like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap. "Oh god, Ichigo -" Everything is so much that she doesn't realize he's changing positions. The noises, the _feel_ is so slick she doesn't even realize he's only working her with his fingers, that the tip of him is nudging at her, thick and hot and insistent until he's telling her, voice wrecked and growly, "Come on my cock."

She's so ready, so wet that she's pretty sure she swallows him whole as he bottoms out in one smooth thrust, she's so full with the him that she gasps, and with another shift in the angle; Ichigo hitching her knees up until they're wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into her, the stimulation of it all is too much and it isn't long before everything around her falls away.

Her legs are still tingling by the time she comes down from her high, and though Ichigo is a comfortable weight on her chest, he still has the energy to mouth lazily at her throat.

"God," Rukia exhales, "you're impossible."

She feels teeth replace his lips, and shivers before he breathes out in something close to petulance, "What did I do?"

"I had plans," she repeats, and with the hand that's carding through his damp hair, she pulls with a little more force and gets the valiant twitch of his dick against her hip for her trouble. She rolls her eyes. _Unbelievable. _To Ichigo's credit, he doesn't do anything about it, only nuzzles into her neck as he murmurs, "Did you?"

"I was going to ride you," like she's telling him about the weather.

Another nudge. Ichigo hums, "Sounds promising."

"You weren't going to be allowed to help," she informs, tone matter of fact.

"Rude."

"But I was going to be very generous about it."

His breath is hot against her ear, voice pitched low and dirty, "Mmm, tell me more."

Rukia opens her mouth, ready to rant until an alarm goes off, "Fuck. I'm going to be late! Get off, get off." She wobbles around like a newly born baby horse, grimaces a little at the hitch in her step and grabs her clothes from those she laid out before she went to bed. She's scrambling into the washroom to clean up as best as she can, and even as she struggles to put everything on, she's venting about something late entirely into the material of her uniform.

By the time she's back in their room, she's dressed but flustered, a matter not helped at all by Ichigo: seated up against the headboard, still naked with the sheet temptingly at his waist, one leg propped up, an arm flexed as he cradles his head while the other moves almost carelessly along his thigh. He looks like sin itself, and the smirk at his mouth and the glint in his eye is all the evidence Rukia needs to accuse, "You're trouble, Kurosaki."

"Only for you, Kurosaki."

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**A/n: ***whispers* i don't know how this happened


End file.
